


No Luck at All

by Laylah



Category: Baccano!, Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Community: no_true_pair, Crossover, Gangsters, Gen, Organized Crime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-14
Updated: 2009-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-21 09:36:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kimberly gets down to the car first—Russo’s probably stocking up on extra slugs for his shotgun, and Kimberly almost never uses anything but his garrote.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Luck at All

“According to the report I’ve gotten from Chane,” Archer says, “we have a few investors looking to flee, after all this –” he gestures at the newspaper on his desk, the screaming headlines about the unstoppable collapse of Wall Street—“but the only one who’s actually started packing up his household is Corneo.”

Kimberly only nods. He tends to just let the boss go, get all the way through the speech before he asks any questions.

Russo doesn’t have that much self-restraint. “That’s no good at all,” he says. “He owes us a lot of money.”

Archer smiles faintly. “He does. Money he doesn’t have anymore, thanks to the crash—but I’m a practical man. I can’t forgive people their debts to me just because they’ve accumulated others.” He laces his fingers together and rests his chin on his hands. “I would like the two of you to pay him a visit at his home, and talk with him about how disappointed I am.”

From the grin on Russo’s face, it doesn’t look like there’ll be a lot of—no, that’s not true. There’s always a lot of talking where Russo’s involved. There just won’t be much _conversation_.

“Collateral damages?” Kimberly asks. He’s heard Corneo has a family.

“I’m sending both of you,” Archer says. “I know your talents. Handle the situation as you see fit.”

Russo laughs like a kid on Christmas, starting for the door. “You’re the best,” he says. “Come on, Crimson.”

“Get your gun, sugar,” Kimberly says, “and I’ll meet you at the car.”

He thinks he hears Archer make a soft noise of amusement behind him as he turns to go.

Kimberly gets down to the car first—Russo’s probably stocking up on extra slugs for his shotgun, and Kimberly almost never uses anything but his garrote. Well. He pops open the trunk and checks to make sure all the emergency gear is still in there. Bale of wire, tire iron, can of gasoline. Yeah. He’s got everything he needs.

While he waits for Russo to get down here, Kimberly lights up a cigarette. Mostly he smokes for an audience, to get people to look at his hands and notice the tattoos, but sometimes he just wants to hold something burning. He’s looking forward to this job. Archer gives good orders, with a lot of room to move, and he doesn’t complain when Kimberly solves problems his own way. And Russo’s a loose cannon, but he has a lot of enthusiasm, and Kimberly can appreciate that.

“Let’s go,” Russo says when he steps out into the alley.

“That’s what I’ve been waiting to hear,” Kimberly says. He grinds out the cigarette under his heel and opens the driver’s door.

The car’s shocks creak when Russo lands in the passenger seat, shotgun across his lap. He shuts the door with a heavy thunk, and Kimberly starts the engine.

They make it about two blocks—possibly a new record—before Russo can’t take the silence anymore. “I can’t believe these guys,” he says, gesturing out the window. It’s hard to be sure who he means—the new poor, who lost it all in the last week and won’t ever see their fortunes again. New Yorkers as a whole. People in general, maybe.

“Mmm,” Kimberly agrees, in any case. Russo doesn’t need a lot of encouraging.

“I mean, look at them!” Russo goes on. So. People in an immediate sense. That’s usually the case, Kimberly figures. He turns right. “Stumbling around like that. Like it’s the end of the world!”

“It is, for a lot of them,” Kimberly says. He’s surprised at how few cars are on the street. “Were you on Wall Street for any of it? I went up there on Tuesday. Got a seat in this little restaurant across from the Exchange.”

He glances over, and Russo’s staring at him, suspicious. “Why would I want to do that?”

“To watch the people,” Kimberly says. He turns onto Fifth Avenue. “They’d come staggering out of there looking _broken_ , right, looking ruined, like—you remember what it was like when guys came home from the Great War? Like that.”

“Huh.” Russo shifts in his seat. “You have some weird fucking hobbies.”

Kimberly laughs. “This from Shotgun Russo,” he says.

“What?” Russo says. “What’s so strange about me?”

If you have to ask—“Nothing,” Kimberly says. He pulls into the driveway at Corneo’s place, like they have every right to be there. “Ready?”

Russo grins, lifts his shotgun. “For this?” he says. “Always.”

Kimberly gets out of the car, goes around the back to unload his gear. Man, if Corneo thought his luck was bad before—now he’s got no luck at all.


End file.
